


Starborn

by ishafel



Series: From Great Moments in Death Eater History, Vol. II, 1995-- [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sisters are forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starborn

It's hard to tell a story about Bellatrix, and not have it end badly. Things just seem to go wrong when that girl is around. Even when she means well-and that doesn't happen all that often-you know. One minute, things are ticking along, pleasant as you please, and the next minute it's all hands on Mortal Peril. But one thing I will say for Bellatrix. When she starts something she sticks to it, no matter how tough things get. She sees things through, even this whole Voldemort thing, and if that's not a matter of things going wrong I don't know what is. You don't see that kind of determination in a Slytherin. Not very often.

Like, when her sister Narcissa's husband went to prison. No one was more set on cheering Narcissa up then Bellatrix was. Turned up straight away at the Manor with her arms full of drink mix and cheap tequila and pornography and Suddenly Single badges. All she meant was for it to be a nice hen night. Anyone else could have seen it wasn't the time nor the place, but not our Bellatrix.

Here's Narcissa bawling her eyes out. She's a real lady but when she's in a snit like she was then-well, it's better to let her work it out for herself. But Bellatrix swoops in, and next thing you know she's making margaritas, and if she's ever made a drink without a bartender and an Imperius curse, you'd never be able to tell it watching. She sure had a liberal hand with that tequila. And let me tell you-there wasn't a Black born that had a head for liquor.

So it doesn't take very long-only one drink-until Bellatrix and Narcissa are a little tipsy. They're sitting on the sofa looking at magazines and giggling, while the Muggle boys Bellatrix brought put on a show. Bellatrix at least is fully dressed for this. Narcissa's still in her dressing gown with her hair all snarled and no makeup and pink eyes. But they're a pair of lightweights, the two of them.

Bellatrix mixes the second round even stronger, if that's possible. There's some fussing over whom to toast. Narcissa wants to hoist one for the governor in Azkaban and Bellatrix always drinks for England and His Satanic Majesty. After a while they both agree to drink to getting what they want and it's hard to tell whether they realize the two things are more or less mutually exclusive. But they raise their glasses and chug their drinks like Quidditch players.

Then they let them fly at the fireplace. All those house elves Narcissa has might as well earn their keep. This is when they seem to notice those Muggle boys. And if you had any doubt these girls were predators, well, seeing them in action would have dispelled it. Their eyes light up and their fingers curl into claws. Narcissa's particularly. Married or not Bellatrix doesn't really seem to fancy men.

The boys are half naked to begin with, and Narcissa has them all the way naked pretty quickly. She's so drunk she has to lean on her sister, but maybe there are some spells the Death Eaters make you learn so you can do them in your sleep. It figures they'd involve nudity. It looks for a moment like Narcissa's just going to rip those boys apart, right where they are. One way or another. And even house elves can only do so much when it comes to getting fluids out Oriental rugs.

That's when Bellatrix steps in, and pours Narcissa another drink. Only somehow when she does it, half the salt's on the floor. So then there's much picking it up and flinging it over shoulders, and somehow in the middle of it the Muggle boys vanish back to wherever it is Bellatrix usually keeps them. She doesn't share her toys very well, and she hates to have them broken. At least the Malfoy family heirlooms-with the exception of the glasses shattered all over the hearth-are spared for another night.

By the time the third round is downed, those girls are very drunk indeed. Lightweights. Now, I could tell you they did some nice, sisterly things-braided each other's hair, maybe, or turned each other's nails different colors-before they drank a liter or two of water and wobbled off to sleep. But Bellatrix and Narcissa are made of sterner stuff than that. Blacks may not be able to hold their liquor, but they're good at other sorts of vices.

The truth is, they-and the tequila-did retire to bed-together. Maybe they didn't mean to, originally, or maybe this is some kind of family ritual. But they go staggering down the corridor arm-in-arm, singing the old Death Eater drinking songs and colliding with one wall or the other. Funny, seeing them together like that-they really are the same size, same shape. Sisters.

It's in the bedroom that the squiffy part really starts. Before that it's mostly innocent, at least on Narcissa's part. Although this sort of thing does happen even in the best of families. Maybe they've even done this before. Narcissa stands at her dressing table and combs out her long fair hair, and Bellatrix lies on Lucius' side of the bed, with her skirt up around her thighs and her fingers between her legs. You would think it might be awkward, but it doesn't seem to be.

When Narcissa sees in the mirror what Bellatrix is doing, it's pretty clear she doesn't believe it. But once it sinks in-she wants to help. Or at least she says she does. Apparently her idea of helping involves undressing; luckily apart from her robe and her heels she isn't wearing much-only a slinky little black teddy. It isn't too long before she's crawling across the bed, determined to go to Bellatrix's aid.

She starts with mouth to mouth. It isn't the mouth Bellatrix has been concentrating on, but she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she twists her free hand in Narcissa's hair and pulls her closer. Narcissa squeaks and falls back onto the pillows, and after that there's a great deal of kissing and writhing on the black satin sheets with the Malfoy monogram. Eventually Bellatrix's shirt comes off, followed in short order by her skirt. She isn't wearing any underwear. This is how you can recognize a Death Eater, by the way, although if things get to the stage where you notice the lack, you're probably going to be screwed regardless.

Somehow Bellatrix inches upward until her breast is in her sister's mouth. The Azkaban Diet has worked wonders for her figure, though perhaps it was an Enlargement Charm that made her breasts so large and round. I know that Lord Voldemort prides himself most particularly on his Enlargement Charms. There is a great deal of panting and moaning. Bellatrix is still masturbating; Narcissa appears to be biting her. It is a reasonably well-known fact that members of the Black family prefer their sex rough, and certainly most purebloods think nothing of incest. Still, there is nothing natural about transfiguring one's wand into a double-donged pink dildo.

Narcissa releases Bellatrix in order to hold it, triumphantly, above their heads. For a woman whose creative experience has previously been limited to spilling blood, it is truly an achievement. With rather more care than was expended on her sister's breast, she takes each penis in turn into her mouth. Bellatrix watches her, eyes heavy with drink and desire, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Only the fingers circling her clitoris are never still.

Narcissa untangles herself from Bellatrix and rises to her knees. Even in the act of debauchery, she is graceful, even in the act of spearing herself on the giant pink dildo. Her body is as supple and flexible as a willow wand, tanned and toned and beautiful as money and magic can make it. With the thing inside of her she looks like a slim boy-albeit a boy with breasts-in bed with a beautiful woman.

When she thrusts into the hole Bellatrix has so carefully prepared for her, Bellatrix whimpers-Bellatrix who lay impassive while the Mark was burned into her arm. Narcissa stills above her, allowing her to recover. Bellatrix's fingers close around a handful of satin sheet; her eyelids flicker. And then, slowly, impossibly-her hips begin to rise off the bed. Narcissa falls back and lies still as Bellatrix takes control of the toy within their bodies.

Her thrusts are slow and regular at first; this is clearly an area in which she has some expertise. Gradually she gathers speed. Narcissa moans beneath her, driven by something that is like, and unlike, agony. She is lovely; they both are: the only shame is that Lucius is not there to see his fondest dream enacted. Abruptly Narcissa climaxes and lies still beneath her sister.

Bellatrix continues, her movements becoming frenzied. The other Death Eaters would recognize her-this is the face she wears in battle, in lieu of the skull-mask. The Mark on her arm is as livid as the bruise Narcissa put on her breast. She does not look drunk-not any longer-not even when she comes and falls softly back onto the bed.

The two women seem on the verge of sleep, quiet and contented as hunting cats after a kill. Their hair is a tangle of black and silver; their limbs, impossibly pale and lithe, are tangled too. But Narcissa sits up after a moment, her face troubled. She has not forgotten the ruin her life has become. And this is a night for lawlessness: for unwise deeds and unwise words and unwise vows. Bellatrix has not distracted her, not for long enough.

They dress in silence, sisters again, and not lovers. Bellatrix plaits her hair and dabs her wrists with cologne from Lucius' dressing table. They both put on dark, hooded cloaks; though it is summer the night is dark and damp. Narcissa's wand turns back into itself without any prompting. They apparate to Spinner's End.


End file.
